'She will see me, Biddy. Will you kindly allow me to pass?' And the old woman drew back, muttering as she did so. But he was obliged to confess that Biddy was right as he opened the door, and for a moment he hesitated on the threshold. Mrs. Blake was half sitting, half lying on the couch in a curiously uneasy position, as though she had flung herself back in some sudden faintness; her eyes were closed, and the contrast between the pale face and dark dishevelled hair was very striking; her lips, even, were of the same marble tint. He had always been compelled to admire her, but he had done so in grudging fashion; but now he was constrained to own that her beauty was of no mean order. An artist would have raved over her; she would have made a model for a Judith or a Magdalene. As he stood there with his hand on the door, she opened her eyes and looked at him; but she did not change her attitude or address him. Michael made up his mind that he must speak to her. 'I am sorry to see you look so ill, Mrs. Blake.' He took her hand as he spoke; it felt weak and nerveless. But she drew it hastily away, and her forehead contracted. 'Of course I am ill.' 'I hope Biddy has sent for a doctor; I think you should see one without delay.' But she shook her head. 'No doctor would do me any good. I would not see him if he came.' Michael was silent; he hardly knew how he was to treat her. Mollie's graphic account of the scene last night had greatly alarmed him. Mrs. Blake was of a strangely excitable nature; he had been told that from her youth she had been prone to fits of hysterical emotion. She was perfectly unused to self-control, and only her son had ever exercised any influence over her. Was there not a danger, then, that, the barriers once broken down, she might pass beyond her own control? He had heard and had read that ungovernable passion might lead to insanity; he almost believed it, as he listened to Mollie's story. This is why he had insisted on seeing her. He must judge of her condition for himself; he must do his best to prevent the recurrence of such a scene. And now, as he saw her terrible exhaustion and the dim languor in her eyes, he told himself that something must be done for her relief. 'If you send one, I will not see him,' she went on. 'I think you are wrong. For your children's sake you ought to do your best to throw off this illness that oppresses you.' But she interrupted him. 'Why are you here this morning? Are you going to him?' she asked abruptly. 'Yes, certainly; that is, if he will see me.' 'He will see you. He would not refuse anyone who came from Woodcote. Captain Burnett, will you tell me this one thing: has that girl given him up?' Michael hesitated. 'Your son has broken off his engagement with Miss Ross. He felt he could not do otherwise.' 'You are not answering me straight. I do not want to hear about Cyril; of course he would offer to release her. But has Miss Ross consented to this?'